


Hey You, I Love Your Soul

by eventidexilluminations



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College Student Dean, Friendship, Gen, High School, High School Student Castiel, Seer Castiel - Freeform, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eventidexilluminations/pseuds/eventidexilluminations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has been called many things in his sixteen years of life: a seer, a psychic, a prodigy. But, seeing souls and future events was never quite so important to him, not until he learnt to appreciate what beauty there was in one particular soul. And for all the abilities he was gifted with, Castiel never once saw it coming, not until it was far too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey You, I Love Your Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at summaries, incredibly so, and I have no idea what to put in the tags. Sorry about that.
> 
> Anyway, this is my first post on here, I wonder if I should celebrate. This came to be because I was talking to someone about a roleplay I had with my girlfriend and this was the saddest ending we came up with one day, then one thing led to another and here we all are, request done and sad stuff everywhere. I do not necessarily like how it came out, as always, though that is probably my fault especially more for drinking and writing and that just made it worse, oops;; 
> 
> If there are any typos, my bad, I did look over it quickly but who knows, horrible and obvious typos show up from time to time and they are the bane of my existence and make me want to crawl under a rock. 
> 
> In any case, please enjoy! :D

There were many things that Castiel did not quite understand of the world and really, that did not bother him quite as much as one would think.

After all, he was only sixteen and a shut in to boot, what could he possibly know?

The world to most sixteen year old's was compromised of many strange, scary changes and pressures of fitting into the small, ill-fitted moulds that society had decided were best for them. A mess of hormones and cracking voices and acne and "does my crush like me or not," and uncertainties and insecurities about the body, not to mention the stress of high school, of teachers pummelling their self-esteem and sense of self-care, causing them to sacrifice for the sake of their grades that they had come to believe were their entire lives. Because if they slept rather than studied, they would fail and they would not get into a good school, then they would drop out and never get a job and be on the streets and so on.

None of that had touched Castiel necessarily, not exposed to peer pressure by the public school system or ridicule on the playground growing up. Granted, when he hit puberty, a few things had thrown him for a loop, like hair growth in places he never had before, the funny sounding phase he had that went from the little boy amazed with something as simple as a board game to a teenager that had too deep a voice to pass for his age when answering the phone and he had to say more than once that yes, he was just the son of the owner of the house and was not even eighteen yet.

And then there was the situation of the first time he woke up with a strain against his pyjama pants, that was certainly an awkward experience, having stared at the bulge before rolling onto his side slowly, shutting his eyes and trying to go back to sleep because it was seven in the morning, he could spare an hour or so more and when he woke up, if it was there, he would find a way to deal with it.

Overall, however, Castiel did not have the pressure of wearing this or that or supporting one person versus another or else be shunned. His daily interactions with people face-to-face were limited to his mother and father and Dean and Sam Winchester. There was the occasional time he saw others, people he never put too much weight on if they looked at him strangely because of his clothing choice or because he had a few rollers in his hair, since it had looked interesting to see his mother with them in her hair, so he figured it would do no harm to try them out himself.

It was significantly harder with his hair being shorter than hers, but it was still worth a try.

Needless to say, four people were his entire world. Many might find it incredibly strange if they knew how exactly one of them had become such, were he ever to tell them. Which, he understood, because anyone else that had a gun pointed at them at the young age of four would not have become friends with the one who had said weapon. But something had woken Castiel that night, a niggling in the back of his mind that turned into such a dominating thought, the little boy had to scramble out of bed and putter down the stairs to the kitchen.

Something was calling out to him, a presence that was not mother or father, something new and exciting, in a way, since it had been near over a year since he was outside. He used to be able to, before, without a problem. He could go outside and play on the swings and feed the ducks and giggle endlessly when his mother and father would grip his hands and pick him up just enough so he could kick his little feet and pretend he could fly.

Then his Sight developed far too prematurely and he had let out such an agonised wail when in the sandbox, he probably scared everyone around him, though he had passed out not long after and never asked about it. Every time he tried to go out since then, it was the same feeling as the first time, a cacophony of hundreds of voices and shrill ringing and horrible noises he had no idea what they were but they frightened him, he knew that much, all in his head at a volume that he did not know was possible to hear in any way, mentally or from a radio. He felt blinded, too, from the sudden onslaught of vivid colours coming from everything around him, so many blues and greens and reds and yellows, like a rainbow had exploded in the park.

When he woke up, he was in his bed, the smell of herbs all around him along with some other things he could not yet identify. His mother was placing bowls on the night stand and he had not given it a second thought in getting up and embracing her, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks and he asked her if there was something wrong with him. She had shushed him and told him there was absolutely nothing wrong with him; it was just something most called Sight that he had inherited from her, though it was supposed to come when he was a few years older than now.

The notion itself did not scare him because he knew his mother had it, too. There were the questions that raced through his mind of why did his come earlier, what did that mean, was it bad?

Pamela had smiled at the rush of questions and held her little boy close, answering every question and telling him everything she could about it. Knowing how overwhelming it could be, she had consulted someone close to her on how they might suppress his abilities, the prospect of them hurting her son too much to bear. And they had found a solution, no matter how temporary, the same way a pill was a temporary fix for something. She knew they would eventually have to take him off of it and deal with the whole of it, not just a watered down version, so to speak. In time, however; for the time being, she was just happy to see him in no pain.

And Castiel did not sense or pick up on anything outside since then, not unless they were right outside their home. Now, he was never a social toddler, being the one who clutched his sunshine yellow pail with a matching shovel tightly to his chest, eyes wide as he shifted this way and that, nervous about going into the sandbox because there was another boy in it or shuffling away awkwardly with a shy smile when at the swing set upon being greeted by a girl. Yet, he missed the outside, at first, missed the park and the ducks and the walks to the sweets shop, even if they made his legs really tired. That was the whole reason a new presence had excited him and he went down the stairs to see Dean rifling through the kitchen, merely rubbing at his eyes and telling him, "Hello."

From there, well, it was an honest friendship. Actually, Castiel supposed maybe not at the start; it had originally begun with a deal made by his father after he had asked Castiel what he saw in Dean, a notion he later found out had made Dean incredibly uncomfortable and a tad freaked out; for every day that he would spend with Castiel, they would give him food. A good enough deal for the ten year old, he had Sam to deal with at that tender age of four, what was one more?

There were a few times were Castiel learnt his abilities had frustrated Dean or made him upset, like when he first showed him a board game and the little boy kept winning. It was not like he could help it! He had improved in managing, but he was only four, he could not shut everything out and like he was anyone without these abilities. His mother could, but she had years of practice. Overall, however, they did get closer and he was happy to say that Dean did become his friend, not simply coming by for the sake of food. Sam was introduced to him early on, as well, as he had instantly gotten along with him. Likely, it had something to do with them being the same age and Sam being amazed at what he could do, accepting him without any issue at all.

Sam always talked about public school and what he liked, what he hated, funny times and stressful times, things that amazed Castiel growing up and he thought that maybe, one day, he would finally have enough grasp on his Sight that he could go outside.

No matter how much he worked on it, the teenager still had to take things to dull them down, a strange mix of herbs and such. The list was down in the kitchen and sometimes he helped his mother, though mostly he watched. His mother said that he was special, that he was far more developed and had an amazing capacity, more than what she had ever seen, but that it also meant that as he grew up, he could not risk it overpowering him. It was bad enough when it first came to him, all that pain, causing him to faint, he could not and did not want to imagine what it could do to him now.

Today, though, was an excellent day, the best day.

Dean was coming to visit.

He did not go to a faraway university, something he had chosen so he could remain close to Sam and he did still live at home; but, often times, he ended up sleeping over at a friend's because of study sessions or projects or something university related. Either way, Castiel did not see him as often as when they were younger, which was accepted although he felt lonely at first and even talking to those he knew on the Internet was not the same. They texted every so often and Dean sent him silly pictures of silly things or of himself and all his frustrations, of his woes and regrets of ever having decided to pursue engineering. When the other was not especially loaded up with homework, they would Skype if he was unable to visit and those times, Sam would for sure come over so they could all talk and Castiel liked those days.

Though, he liked these days better.

This way, they did not have any pressure of Dean needing to go back or stressing over projects or papers and Castiel did not feel bad that he could not help some way, since he was on a short break. As he padded downstairs to go get his tea and double check that he did not need to tell his mother to buy more ingredients whilst she and her father were out, it all happened so quickly, he was left completely winded.

There was darkness, anger, so much anger and troubled anguish, an explosion of pain and fear and then a frightening lot of nothing.

That was the best he could describe it at that moment, not realising he had dropped his mug and was clutching onto the counter with all the strength he could muster, his other hand slapped over his abdomen and breath coming out in deep gasps like he was a drowning man who was just barely saved in time. The teenager had remained like that for a minute or two, aiming to compose himself until the tea that had spilt and absorbed into his socks was bordering on extremely uncomfortable. Once he knelt down to pick up the larger pieces of the mug and placed paper towels over the mess, he slipped them off and went back to his room for a new pair, sparing a look at the clock as he did. The numbers that stated back at him brought back the sensation, dulled, though no less unsettling and the male began to scratch at his palms unconsciously, thinking what it could possibly mean and he did not like what he came up with.

It was entirely possible that it was something another was going to go through, not that it would make it any better; however, that, he could help with, if he concentrated on it hard enough and came into closer contact with whoever it was. On the other hand, it was just as possible that it would happen to him. His mother always told him that he was special, but it always came at a price. People like them were not supposed to be able to see their own future, it was too much power for one human being to have. There were a few cases in which this did happen, so it was said, and they never ended well. Play with life, with fate, with everything that made a human life human, whatever logic or faith driven belief one had, it would always end in disaster. Tales told of these people losing their minds or being killed because in the end, life would play out as it was meant to and punish those who dared attempt to manipulate and abuse their powers for their own selfish gain. Castiel had been terrified when he learnt of this at the age of seven and swore never to do the same as them, be it to scare people or not. He liked his life, liked living it like it was and not knowing what was to come, he did not want to used his abilities for his own advancement in life, he just wanted to help people and that was it. A few times, he had these moments and most were rather innocent, regardless if they took a heavy toll on him, though this one was by far the worst and most vivid of them all.

In a way, Castiel supposed this was using that for his own gain, somehow, as he reached over for his cell phone, unlocked it and stared at the open text messages. With a few taps, the line was ringing and a few seconds later, he heard the muffled sounds of an engine, shuffling, and a voice that sounded a bit distant, something Castiel pegged on it being on speakerphone.

"Cas?"

"Hello, Dean."

He heard a laugh on the other line and could not help smiling himself, finding it as contagious as always.

"What's up? I know I'm a bit late and irresistible, but I didn't take you to be the impatient type."

"No, I already knew you were going to be late."

"… Right. Psychic mojo. You know that's still creepy?"

"You have told me that before, yes. That was not the reason I called."

"Okay, so what did you call for?"

"I just had a feeling I should, to talk and tell you a few things."

"Shoot."

"Ah… I know you think my Sight is 'creepy–'"

"You just did air quotes, didn't you?"

"Dean."

"Alright, my bad. Keep going."

"I know that, but I have it to thank for knowing you were in my house and without that, we never would have become friends. So, I am grateful for it, and you and Sam. Both of you have given me so much, more than I could hope for. I suppose what I am trying to say with all this rambling is thank you, for everything. And I love you. Both you and Sam. And I hope you might tell him for me."

There was a pause on the other line, far too long of one, with the only way to know he had not hung up the consistent white noise.

"… Cas, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"I am fine. I just felt the need to tell you and ask if you could possibly pick Sam up before coming, so we can all hang out."

"Uh, yeah, no. I don't know what the hell's got your panties in a twist that you got to have this touchy-feely moment, but I sure as shit ain't waiting to see what it is."

"Dean–"

"No but's, Cas. I'm heading over and that's that. Capisce?"

"… Yes, I capisce."

"Good. I'll see you soon."

When the call ended, all the boy did was stare glumly at the phone, until he finally felt it come back and worse, wheezing for breath as he slowly slid down off his bed onto the carpet to reach around for his Converse. Slower than he would have liked were they slipped on and tied, jeans adjusted once he stood up and made his way to his door. He stood there, breathing deeply and thinking back on his life, on all he had done, before walking down the stairs and heading back to clean up the mess he knew was still there.

As he was in the process of mopping it all up, it had started and he likely should have been scared and maybe he was with no idea that he was or maybe something in him was suppressing it all to allow him this calm.

"Don't you fucking move."

Castiel paused in his movements, considering the fact that he was almost finished with soaking up the puddle and was this not a hell of a thing?

He was going to die in the middle of cleaning up tea.

"Drop that and turn around slowly."

The teenager thought better than to mention he had barely asked him not to move and complied, going slowly and when he finally faced the man, he could not help his hands going up to press at his temples, everything crashing into him at once and it hurt.

It hurt so much.

Looking at the man, he could barely see who it actually was, the face he saw warped and so very wrong, demonic in nature from all the suffering this man had seen, that he had no doubt caused. Snippets of screams and pleads rushed in him, horrible sounds of flesh tearing and choked gasps, a sick, perverted glee and laughter, wretched and vile laughter. What was his soul was nothing pure, its entirety corrupted and so much darkness, all nasty black like a void and spikes of carmine at the outer edges, so much violence and cruelty, sadistic like the murderer he was.

Only when he felt a hard, painful burst at his jaw and he stumbled back into the counter did he realise the man had approached him and was yelling at him, the throbbing hurt having stemmed from the gun that was being jabbed at him. The man was speaking again, shouting was more like it, and still, the words were muddled and the boy could only focus on how much evil there was in this man, how he had ruined his soul, how the poor man had no chance at redemption in this lifetime, there was not a speck of purity left in him. He had ripped and stabbed and stripped his soul bare and although he could not break it, as no soul could be broken, he had maimed it to the point of no return.

Another hit and Castiel had gone down this time, landing painfully on his arm and nearly cracking his head against the oven door. Something felt like it snapped or popped in his arm and his nose radiated pain like it was its only purpose, though the boy had scrambled up with the help of the countertop, searching for anything he could possibly use to subdue this man. Maybe it was his time, it most likely was, and the least he could do is keep this man from harming any more.

Honestly, Castiel probably should have tried to pick apart everything he knew of this man and tried to talk him out of this, but a lost cause would always remain so and the only thing he could do was use whatever he knew to try and throw him off, give him some type of element of surprise.

That usually worked, right?

It was not like he got into fights, ever, much less in a situation like this.

"You enjoy it, yes? The thrill of murder, the rush, having this power over people. But, you know, it will never be enough to keep it quiet. That part of you that tells you to be ashamed of who you truly are, that you always think was so weak–"

There was nothing more that Castiel wanted to do than cry out in pain at the hit that came, air punching out of his lungs and it was so, so much agony for his stomach, he was so certain he could cough up blood this very moment. Coughing and mouth opening and closing rapidly for air, he thought he did groan when the gun was placed under his jaw and forced him to straighten up, eyes clenched shut from the exertion and he did not want to see that face again, not so up close.

But he had to do this.

Bleeding and in agony, but he had to.

So he cracked open his eyes, took in a sharp breath, and continued.

"You fight and kill to keep that voice quiet, to keep yourself from going mad. But I know; you are scared that you already believe you are. And you hate that powerlessness, such a weak little boy still, under all that."

Rather than shut his eyes when seeing that gun raised again, the hatred and rage spiking radically, he grabbed the jar with the herbs in it and smashed it against his head, the attack sudden enough that he was able to tackle the man down. He realised he had little to no idea what he was doing and punching was something that he never thought would hurt quite this much, burning from where he felt his knuckles hit teeth from his sloppy attempts to get a good hit in that would be enough. When the man struggled and tried to shove him off, he only clenched his legs tighter at his sides and tried to hold him down, scrambling to keep his hands from getting on him well enough to choke him or push his face away. He bit the offending hand a time or two, then debated actually biting the man because that would surely immobilise him.

It was a stupid thing, he realised as his hand was pushed away and he felt glass, to not simply take the broken glass and use it. But this was his first time fighting anyone and everything he felt from the man did not magically go away, clouding his mind, so it was perfectly reasonable that it slipped his mind. As he finally did grab it and plunged it into his neck hopefully deep enough to keep him down, an unnaturally loud sound reached his ears and a few blissful moments were his before the bubble of numbness ruptured and all he felt was pain, so much pain.

Like a hand, some sort of metal, jagged hand, ripped into his stomach mercilessly, with a sort of ease that was sickening before all the jagged ends latched on inside him to make it that much worse when this malicious hand tore out of him, bringing pieces of his insides with him. This time, he knew he did scream, high pitched and hysterical, as he flopped onto the kitchen floor, hands pressing down on the area and only making him cry out and take in rapid, erratic breaths.

It burnt, it burnt so much, fire seeping in and wreaking havoc on his insides, all this blood making his hands slippery and the lights were beginning to blind him, ears stuffed with cotton and a strange, consistent drone. The tears that dripped down his face were too hot, yet not hot enough to distract him from how it felt like something was eating away at his stomach and adding pressure only made the tears flow faster and some sort of stifled mix of a cry and snort to lodge in his throat. This slow, torturous process was only good at having the pain increase and shutting his eyes and trying to relax rather than choke on air was not helping on bit. It did not even help him hear any better and so he did not hear the door open or anything but the sounds of his ragged breathing until whoever or whatever it was that entered was skidding against the tiles and dropped next to him.

"… Cas! Cas, shit!"

Although longer than he would have liked, his eyes did eventually open up, meeting panicked emeralds and even now, he could see beyond that, to how he was reacting internally, his soul so very bright and active, flaring and some parts shining in a blinding manner maybe to others, but never to him. Always so caring and protective, wanting to keep others safe and this was the reason he wanted Dean to be away for this, Castiel hated to feel such fear and distress from his friend, more so when he was the cause and could not reassure him that everything was going to be okay.

"D-Dean…"

He wanted to tell Dean so much more than what he had said on the phone, tell him how much of an impact he had made in his life, how he had been the reason he finally realised he was brave enough to do things he knew he never would have done before, how he loved learning all these pop culture references from him, how he loved to see the corner of his eyes crinkle when he smiled or how he laughed with his whole body, how he loved Dean just the way he was and even if he was a psychic or seer or whatever else people labelled him as, he would have never would have been able to see that he would have someone like him in his life to call his best and closest friend.

"Fuck, Cas, don't talk. Medics are on their way."

Castiel let out an abortive breath, strangled sounds leaving him every time he opened his mouth instead of everything he wanted to say because he knew it was too late, this was what was going to happen and although he had not made peace with it, he did not want to die this young, he wanted to talk to Dean about how he had finally made his decision that he was going to attend small-populated university and physically go to the school, wanted to say so much more, he could not say everything and all he could offer was a shaky smile, feeling and tasting the metallic substance trickling passed his lips.

"W-will you… tell S-Sam for m-m-me?"

"Tell him yourself."

Whatever noise left him was meant to be a laugh, though it was mostly a miserable and wounded series of constricted air and odd grunts huffed out spasmodically, known by how the tormented expression contorted Dean's face and if he could, Castiel would lift up his hand to smooth it away, tell him not to worry, that everything would be okay, that they would be playing Monopoly in a few hours and Dean would yet again lose just like he had every single time from when he first showed him the board game at age four and he would complain that Castiel was using his "mojo" to win, though he always said it with a smile, that they would be in his room and comfortably settled on his bed, side by side, watching movies that Dean felt were absolutely necessary to have watched at least once in his life on the television that Castiel had asked his mother if he could have because Dean loved television so it made perfect sense to him to have the best kind money could buy, that Sam and them would have sleepovers even if Dean griped about how he was too old for this now, as if twenty years old was the apex of life and he did not enjoy it, which Castiel knew he did, Dean and Sam could never lie to him, though they tried and he allowed them to believe they could from time to time.

None of that was possible, however, and the pain was intensifying, all of it too much and he squeezed his eyes shut, wheezing and wishing that it would all stop if he just stayed still, that mind of matter would work in this case.

"D-Dean… th… th-thank y-you… I… I-I love… l-love you… s-so m-mu… muh…"

No, this was his end and it was a horrible, painful, depressing and pitiful end, far too soon of one.

"Cas, don't you dare. Don't you fucking do this! Cas, fuck!"

At the very least, the last thing he saw was the soul that had always been everything to him, unparalleled in righteousness and radiance, the one he was always so in awe over and over again and never did he think he would ever see such a beautiful soul in his life, thankful every day of his life he was able to get to know Dean, able to share a part of his life with him and blessed enough to call him a friend.

"Castiel!"

And that, Castiel was happy with.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it was not too terrible and poorly written. Writing everything out when it sounds so good in thought then comes out like shit on paper sucks, especially when you can picture it all so nicely in your head. It also was harder than I thought to write someone who was never in a fight before; I have too much experience in that area;; 
> 
> The title was inspired by a song by the same name. The lyrics do not fit, exactly, I just liked the title and listened to it a couple days ago, haha.
> 
> Am I supposed to tell you to leave comments or something? I have no clue. 
> 
> So, do what you will and have a great rest of your day; you all have beautiful souls, too, and I love them, and you, just as you are. c:


End file.
